Reverie
by quaint.camera
Summary: "It had been overwhelming to learn that he was the only one in Hyrule whose touch could loosen the mythical Master Sword. The day he had drawn it had been the most magnificent day of his life . . ." Can Link perform his final duty as the Hero? Oneshot.


He wound around the massive tree trunks, splashing through the clear, shallow water. The grove surrounding him was an elaborate maze of foliage, streams, and passageways, and he knew from experience that if he let his mind drift, it was very easy to get lost. As he concentrated on staying on the correct path, the strange sound of Skull Kid's horn circled around him.

The horn, when blow, allowed Skull Kid to warp short distances, and he wondered if the playful forest spirit was using it to taunt him now. He actually didn't mind the song, and hummed along until a flute piped in with short, hollow notes of sweetness. Was Skull Kid playing two instruments at once? It seemed impossible, but probably wasn't beyond the capabilities of the odd little forest spirit. Had the Kid made a friend?

_Well, regardless . . . _Silently, he thanked the Skull Kid and hoped that he had indeed found a friend to play with, and that they could live eternally young lives in this precious grove.

"Eee hee hee!" That unmistakable laugh floated out at him, breaking into the song. "Well-wisher, I _have_ found a friend! Hee hee!"

Link smiled. The warmth of the sunlight here was nearly overwhelming. It touched his skin and soaked through his shirt, reminding him affectionately that he was alive, and there was still such a thing as pleasure. Soft, nearly undetectable movements of the wind lifted his bangs and spread them across his forehead. He didn't brush the hair from his face, though his eyelashes kept catching in it; the beauty of the grove was too captivating to bother. He would be content to stay here forever, and in that way it reminded him of his home.

From deep within, he felt a powerful longing for his old life. A longing to shepherd the goats without a care in the world, to bake and share a simple pumpkin pie, to shoot at the children's makeshift targets—their latest handiwork, to chatter with Ilia about whatever was on his mind . . . With these longings came the reminder that if he hadn't left all of that behind, he would never have known this secret place existed, or of the sword of destiny it hid.

It had been overwhelming to learn that he was the only one in Hyrule whose touch could loosen the mythical Master Sword. The day he had drawn it had been the most magnificent day of his life . . .

_As the huge stone guardians fell silent, the passageway first began to lose its color, then to fade, until the door had completely vanished. He pressed on, past the guardians, and entered the tunnel, which contained a staircase made up of many wide, small steps. It was actually a good thing that the steps were so small, for he needed Midna's help to span any large distances in his wolf form. Though Midna wouldn't admit to her exhaustion, which was the result of having been flung by Zant into Lanayru's Vessel of Light, Link was glad he didn't need her help._

_Upon reaching the final step, he stopped, framed by the ancient span of stone. This arch had once been the doorway to a temple, but time had worn the temple away and the forest had grown to nearly cover it. Still, there was a small patch of grass the trees had not yet overtaken. From overhead, light filtered through the canopy of trees, illuminating the pedestal that stood quietly in the grass, undisturbed._

_As he approached, he became conscious of a great power struggling to be freed, pushing against whatever barrier held it back. Suddenly he felt this power break through and pour out on him like a river let loose. As it rippled thickly over his body, knocking him to his knees, his wolf form melted slowly away and he rose, filled with emotion. He felt admiration for the strength of what had just rushed past him and a breathless desire to hold in his hands the sword that had made his heart so strong. It was more than just desire; it was like he knew he was the only one who was worthy of it. He had never been prouder of his average height or of his light, muscular build and untamed hair. His hands were perfectly sized, perfectly fitted for the hilt of this blade._

_He could feel Midna somewhere behind him, hovering a distance away to give him privacy. His eyes fell to the sword at his feet. It had been waiting for him all this time, its temple home crumbling to pieces around it as time passed, and he wondered if that burst that had knocked him over had been its expression of breathless happiness at his coming to take it at last. Did it feel fulfilled, as if its purpose had finally come into completion?_

_His hands came together, someone knowing what to do, and gripped the liquid-hot hilt. When he pulled, it came easily away, and he twirled it about, testing it . . . It cut smoothly through the air, as sharply and beautifully as Ilia's eyes pierced him when she was angry. The satisfaction he felt change and grew lighter, rushing through his body, and he felt himself smile._

_He raised the sword to the sun, to give it what it had given him, to let it feel what if felt like to be embraced by this day and these tress and this secret hollow and to have a heart so bursting full! He didn't know how long he stood with his arm outstretched, but when he finally lowered it, Midna's prescence, quieted somehow, drifted to his side. She opened her small palm, showing him the spiky shard that was Zant's magic._

"_This is what he used to curse you," she explained, gazing at the thing with disdain. Her orange eyes jumped suddenly to his face, blazing. "Whenever you touch it, you'll revert to your wolf form. Having control of the transformations could be useful—we could warp at will. I'll hold it for you."_

_He nodded his agreement, then took the Ordon Sword from his back and gazed at it. It was nicely forged, but made of a cheap metal, and had dulled from constant use. Its thick blade had cut through many a monster, but it couldn't begin to compare to the expert craftsmanship of the Master Sword. As he looked at the Ordon Sword more closely, he was reminded of the journey to Hyrule Castle he was supposed to have taken to deliver it, and of Rusl shaping it over a hot flame . . . With reverence, he laid his old sword gently beside the pedestal and looked back at Midna._

"_Can I leave it here for now and come back for it later?" he asked, and she bobbed her head once: _Yes. _Her palm closed around the sharp as she put it away._

_The Master Sword slid smoothly into the holster on his back. It felt heavier, but he felt stronger. He wondered if he was truly the master of the sword, or if it had mastered him._

As he stood once again before the pedestal, he knew the answer to that question. Every swordsman dreamed of the perfect sword, imagined how it would look and feel and what it could _do_ . . . But Link now knew that the perfect sword was the Master Sword. It was the sword that every swordsman saw in their dreams, the sword they longed for without knowing they did so.

After being stripped of Midna, it seemed too much to have to give up his sword, too. What was he going to bring home from his journey? A vision of Hyrule, which he had seen bathed in both darkness and light? A mountain of weapons that could never compare to this sword? He hadn't been allowed to keep the things he'd wanted most, and it seemed so unfair.

Yet, when he'd drawn the sword, he'd known that he was only borrowing it, that he would have to return it someday. He just hadn't figured on that day coming so soon.

The legend said that every millennium or so, a Hero was born to partner with the Princess and defeat Ganondorf, saving Hyrule. The cycle had been put in place by the Goddesses long ago, and Link knew he was merely one Hero of many to wield the sword. He wondered if any of the other Heroes had felt so strong when it was their turn to put it back. He knew he couldn't keep it, but he wanted to hold it for just a little longer. Once he put it back onto its pedestal, it could not be claimed again except by the touch of the next Hero, who would be born long after he passed away.

He tilted the sword so that the deep purple color of the wing-like hilt shone at him. He had not known how full of light the sword was until he had journeyed to the Twilight Realm. In the land of darkness, the sword's glitter was blinding. Whenever he executed a spin attach, it lit the sky around him with a lightning-like flash of light, except it was _golden._ The sword was full of such purity that it could chop thought the thickest clouds of twilight and deflect the darkest magic, as it had done when Ganondorf possessed Zelda.

He ran his finger over the smooth silver of the blade, marveling once again at how beautiful it was. Then, without another moment of hesitation, he lifted it far above his head and plunged it silently into the pedestal. That was the last time he touched it, the last time he felt the marvelous speed with which it could cut through the air and its effortless strength . . . He turned away and saw that darkness was settling over the grove.

Epona whinnied, and he knew that he should go to his trusty steed and let her carry him home before all the light was gone from the sky. The carriage had probably already arrived at the village, and Ilia would be waiting for him. How could he speak to her of his loss, of all he'd suffered?

Ilia's clear eyes empty when she looked at him, because she did not remember . . . Midna shattering the Mirror to prevent him from following her, returning to her world, her people . . . parting with the Master Sword, placing it on its pedestal for the next Hero to find and use . . . to be forever in his human form, never again to let free the wild spirit of a wolf within him . . .

No, there were no words he could give her to make her understand. Perhaps the words would come, in time, but not now. All that he could do now was to go home and try to return to his old life, try to make himself believe that he had never wanted anything more, that he had fulfilled his duty and was now happy, content. Only he and his dreams would know that he wished he had touched her beautifully thin arm, caused her to look up at him with breathtaking orange eyes and said, "I want to go, too." The portal would have swept them both away, and they would have lived out their lives in the castle together. He would have been the Hero of the Realm, with a sword that made lightning and a princess pressed to his waist.


End file.
